Throughout photography's history the question has been repeatedly asked: "What can photographs do?" This is a much more complex question than "What can photographs be used for?" From the uneasy cousins of art and advertising to all things in between, images have been employed in myriad ways. But the larger question of what photographs themselves can accomplish is central to humanitarian photojournalism, and to experiencing Rwanda: After / Darfur: Now, currently on view at the Nazareth College Arts Center.

The exhibition is largely the work of Jerusalem-born photographer Michal Ronnen Safdie. Initially, Safdie trained her lens on the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide, specifically the Gacaca trials, a traditional form of Rwandan justice in which tribunals led by ordinary citizens determined the guilt or innocence of the genocide's lesser criminals (those suspected of more heinous crimes stood before United Nations courts). Two years later, when Safdie became aware of the horrific situation in Darfur, she began photographing refugees as they gathered on the Sudan/Chad border.

Paralleling Safdie's experiences, the gallery is divided into halves, each side featuring images from the separate conflicts. Additionally, two large panels of text provide synopses of the complex historical and political situations in these African nations. This well-planned design helps define the differences between the two conflicts that, if even noted in Western media, often blur into one. The inclusion of two short videos by artists other than Safdie --- Darfur Destroyed and excerpts from In Rwanda We Say ... The Family That Does Not Speak Dies --- supplement our understanding of these tragedies through interviews with witnesses and survivors.

Safdie's work varies greatly in form and theme. Black-and-white images hang beside color ones, and matter-of-fact journalistic records mix with images that aspire to be considered "fine art," a hope that Safdie acknowledges by her presentation. The prints themselves are ink on textured paper, and are framed without mattes, allowing for the torn edges to remain visible. In the corner of each print is an embossed logo. These are both common methods through which creators attempt to define their work as art, but not everything printed on toothy paper can achieve that lofty goal. Photographers who choose to make images of death, tumult, and abject human sorrow must strive to dignify their subjects; celebrating them as desirable craft-objects is a regrettable flaw.

What is shocking about Safdie's images of the Gacaca trials is the number of the accused. Safdie illustrates this in a diptych showing prisoners returning to the local jail in Nyakizu after a day-long hearing. A winding row of figures emerges from a forest and flows single file through a green valley. In the companion image, we look back over the same valley as the prisoners ascend a steep hill from which we take our vantage. A man carrying a wooden chair anchors the center of the frame as the line trickles out behind him and back down the hill. Safdie's decision to spread the figures over two frames enhances the sense that, like this line, the healing of Rwanda might also continue forever.

The struggle to survive while facing an uncertain future pervades Safdie's images of the crisis in Darfur. This duality is most ably displayed in "Untitled (I), 2004, Bahai, Chad," her image of a young boy, staring outside the frame with eyes beyond his years. Behind him, two figures stand among temporary canvas tents. One woman stands forward, looking, and it is difficult to tell if her eyes are meeting Safdie's lens or gazing far into the distance. Whichever the case this image is a monument to desperate hope: hope that the young of Darfur will know a future beyond this moment, or hope that, through the commemoration of this moment, this photograph will help speed relief to this place the world has ignored.

It is that sentiment of hope that returns us to the initial question: What can photographs do? Photographers have always been quick to respond to disaster and human suffering, and inevitably image-makers believe they are helping by witnessing a situation that might otherwise be forgotten. The truth is that photographs of tragedies of this scale increase awareness and thus the potential for change, but by themselves do very little. Our understanding of the depth of misery in places like Rwanda and Darfur often stops at our appreciation for the supposedly virtuous work of the photographer. But images --- no matter how stunning or repulsive --- are worthless by themselves. There are no guarantees that creating these or any photographs will usher peace to these nations; action must follow the witnessing. Before leaving the gallery, I read the thoughts of previous visitors penned in the shows comment book. The most poignant summation was this: "Will this move us to action? I hope so."

Rwanda: After, Darfur: Now, by Michal Ronnen Safdie | Through March 31 | Nazareth College Arts Center lobby, 4245 East Avenue | Daily, 7 a.m.-midnight | 389-2700. For the Arts Center website, click here. | The exhibit is part of the "Witness" series; for more information visit the George Eastman House website.